


Showboat

by panisdead



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panisdead/pseuds/panisdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've always kept up before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showboat

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Resonant8! For you, a token of my esteem. Many thanks to Kormantic for beta, and Etben and the usual suspects for pre-reading.

"Oh," gasped Rodney, face hot against John's, "Oh _wow_ ," and shuddered all over, a full-body writhe. John felt most of the air in his lungs rush out as Rodney sprawled on top of him, warm heavy thigh pinning John to the bed. His knee nudged up uncomfortably against John's balls; John squirmed underneath him, restless and a little put out. Typically there was a second act to this particular play, but Rodney seemed to have stopped at intermission. John squirmed a little more pointedly.

"God, I needed that," Rodney said into his neck, breathlessly. His eyelashes fluttered gently against the sweaty skin of John's neck, sending faint little shivers of pleasure through him. Rodney flailed out a little with his free hand, patting drunkenly at John's ribs, and started to heave himself up.

John felt the first stirrings of unease.

"Well, back to the grind, I guess," Rodney said cheerfully. "I'll see you at--oh. Huh."

"Yeah, _huh_ ," said John, tilting his head meaningfully in the general direction of his groin. He waggled his eyebrows at Rodney a little uncomfortably. Hopefully there wasn't going to be a lot more discussion about this.

Rodney still seemed faintly puzzled by the unexpected hard-on situation. "I thought you were keeping up," he said, giving John an aggrieved look, like _John_ was the one who'd gone off like a bottle rocket at the first touch to his dick.

"Well I guess _not_ ," John grimaced, starting to feel even more awkward. They hadn't--this was only the fourth time they'd done this, and the other times had been easy, fast and messy and almost perfectly in synch. Rodney'd managed the 'fast and messy' part this time around, but not so much the 'mutual.'

"You've always kept up before."

"Rodney!" John snapped, sitting up and glaring, his arousal taking a sharp left turn past embarassment and heading straight into annoyance. He'd figured the potential for awkwardness during sex with Rodney McKay was at least an order of magnitude greater than with normal people, but he'd hoped--well. He'd hoped maybe they could keep this thing between them going a little longer before they got to the uncomfortable sex stage. John hadn't been--he hadn't been done yet.

Looked like he was done now, though. John leaned back on one elbow and scowled. "Go on, then," he said, jerking his chin toward the door. Fine, if this was how it was going to go. He lowered himself back to the bed, elbowing Rodney in the process, and reached down to give his dick a rough, business-like squeeze.

Rodney twisted around and sat all the way up in the bed, eyes darting avidly between John's face and his crotch. "Well, I suppose I could be persuaded to stick around a little longer, in case you needed my, you know, guidance?"

"Guidance," John said slowly, getting an inkling of where Rodney was headed. "You know, I've had a lot of experience with this in my time, I don't think I need a mentor."

"Yes, well, an informed observer is always better at spotting flaws in the technique," said Rodney, nodding sharply.

So he _did_ want to watch. That was--John felt his nipples tighten right up at that, but still. _Persuaded_ to stick around? "You want a peep show, you can go to Amsterdam."

"In my copious spare time?" Rodney asked. "You're right here, all ready and willing."

"Yeah," muttered John. "Guess I am."

It was okay, though. He was used to this part. Rodney wasn't the first one to ask him for a little show, not the first one who'd wanted to see John Sheppard spread out and panting like some kind of porn star. It would have been hot, even, if he hadn't known what it meant.

John sucked in a breath, let his right hand slide down his chest to rest just below his navel, rubbing soft little circles with his thumb. Rodney was shifting around next to him in a distinctly _places to go, people to cow_ kind of way, waiting for him to get on with it, probably, and wasn't that how it always went. Things with a new partner started off great, easy and fun, but when they started thinking too hard, looking for too much, the sex tended to get off-kilter. That awkward stage was usually when people asked you for things like this, handcuffs and goofy names and games you wouldn't normally play; tricks to hold their interest just a little longer.

Well, he could certainly manage _engaging_. John didn't mind, he never _minded_ a little variety. Mostly it was fun, seeing what people came up with. Just, sometimes he got tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. John drew his other hand down his body, ran a lazy thumb over his balls, and yeah, that was--

"Left handed?" Rodney said skeptically, far too close to his ear. "Isn't that--"

" _McKay_ ," John growled through gritted teeth. "I can _handle_ it."

Rodney waved a hand in his peripheral vision. "Sorry, sorry," he said, not sounding at all contrite. "Carry on."

 _There's an orgasm at the end of all this,_ John thought, closing his eyes in a grimace. It helped, some. Endorphins made up for a lot. He concentrated on relaxing his shoulders and stretched out a little more on the bed, getting comfortable once more. The movement made his knuckles brush against the underside of his dick, so he did it again, rolling his hips this time.

Next to him Rodney sighed a little, a faint, warm brush of air across his cheek. John shivered, feeling the hair on his arms try to stand up. There hadn't been much of a mood going on, not with Rodney in the room, but little trickles of electricity were zinging up and down his spine with every feathery touch of his fingers. He could feel Rodney's gaze on him like a tangible weight, and it was both uncomfortable and exciting, to have all that attention focused solely on John's next move. It was good, he decided; it was just fine.

Thinking that made it easier for him to close his eyes and wrap his hand around himself, made it easier to stroke slow and hard, just the way he liked. Nothing difficult about it, and the little sighs Rodney made as John worked himself just amped him up further. It was hot, knowing Rodney liked what he saw; made him want to get a little theatrical. He let himself sigh on the next upstroke, let his legs fall open, knees loose, let himself bite his lip.

" _Oh_ yeah," breathed Rodney, and slid down to rest next to him on the pillow. He scooted in until he was a hair's breadth away from John, damp heat from his body down the whole length of John's side. "Go ahead," he murmured, lips barely brushing John's ear, sending a mindless shiver through him. "Go ahead and get into it, come on--"

It was like he'd flipped a breaker at the base of John's spine, the way Rodney's words lit him up. He could feel his pulse pounding in his throat and the palms of his hands, shuddery waves of pleasure lapping at him with each twist of his wrist. He was still conscious of Rodney's speculative gaze on him, watching and cataloguing his movements, but that little edge of awareness just made it _better_. It zoned him in, made him feel just self-conscious enough that he had to _work_ for his pleasure instead of falling headlong into it, made it last and last.

Somewhere in there John had shifted from playing at performing to giving it up for real; he twisted and shuddered and got his free hand down to his hole before he realized what he was doing, and by that point he'd already gotten the first finger in and there was no point in stopping.

" _Jesus_ ," gasped Rodney right in his ear, "that's--god, don't _stop_ \--" like John would even have considered it. Rodney had both hands on him now, one skimming lightly, testing him--quick squeeze to his nipple, scrape of thumbnail over his hipbone, cool fingers tracing the hollow behind his knee--while the other cupped his neck, thumb stroking firm and rhythmic from his ear to the join of his shoulder.

John's whole body ached with need, his lip hurt where he was biting it, and Rodney leaned in again, voice low and intent, and said, "Make noise if you want," and John never bothered when he was by himself, what was the point, but after that he couldn't _stop_ , moaning louder and louder until his voice caught as he clenched up and came hard enough to hurt.

"Holy shit," he heard Rodney say with great feeling a moment later, through the fuzzy haze of his afterglow.

"No kidding," John mumbled, wiping at the underside of his chin with one rubbery hand. At least he'd given a rousing final performance. There was spunk in his _hair_.

"You should lag behind more often," Rodney said, spreading one broad, warm hand over John's heaving ribcage. "The data I gathered from the last two minutes _alone_ \-- _years_ of material. You're a sexual treasure trove just waiting to be mined."

"'zat so," said John faintly, thinking, _years?_

Rodney shuffled around contentedly, pressing a sloppy kiss to John's ear. "Not that I was really in danger of getting bored or anything."

"Nah," John said. "Me neither."

END


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